A blog mostly focused on poetry. I am not sure I understand anything else.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Day 11 - Cuffs

Since today is another one of those crazy days at the office, made even loonier by the fact that I have Japanese tonight and I haven't cracked my textbook since last week, I shall dispense with all preamble and post posthaste.

Takaaki entered my life as a leopardBelt being unbuckled at the Y.Until then, we had not exchanged a wordApart from that perfunctory, “Hi,”One naturally nods when in the shower—Never letting eyes fall any lowerThan chin, if necessary, collarbone,Careful to leave your ‘well enough’ alone—Lest anything unseemly rise to blurThe steely line of bubbles separatingReally clean from curious—creatingQuestions about conditioners, and whetherGrapefruit is a proper manly scent—Even in a Thought Experiment.

I was hooked by how that feline beltCrept through the four tight loops above his rear;It filled me with four-letter words, which spelt,“Don’t ruin your Moon trip.” A very weirdInjunction—poetic, perhaps—but itBears no relation to immediateConcerns here, in a crowded locker room:A cave as cold and moldy as the tombWhere Romeo is scheduled to meetHis Juliet, when Shakespeare intervenes,Crossing out the dancing in those scenes.I sprinkled fungal powder on my feet,Discretely. As my fairy dust descended,I wondered if his buckle was befriended

By anything besides his fingertips.I could, of course, conceive of other suitors—A bedroom floor, those pant hangers with clipsCoated in red rubber, folding doorsWith tiny metal doorknobs—all of thisI could conceive—nor was it my businessWhere, after leaving his seductive waist,His buckle might intend to hang, how chasteThese new companions, if they drink, or stinkOf soiled underwear, or socks, or holdSilk stockings with more reverence, or coldHands in handcuffs, or dead cats. I thinkWhat one discovers on a closet hookCan tell you more than any tell-all book.